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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274790">Devour Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unseemingowl/pseuds/Unseemingowl'>Unseemingowl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambrose and Prudence burn so very hot together, Ambrose wants Prudence to take joy in things, F/M, Food Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Oneshot, References to Depression, rated for sex and violence, the academy isn't nice to orphans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:00:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unseemingowl/pseuds/Unseemingowl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>London, Paris, Amman and Hong Kong - snapshots from Prudence and Ambrose's hunt for Blackwood. </p><p>Or how Prudence Night falls in love with Ambrose Spellman.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Prudence Night/Ambrose Spellman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Devour Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I put Prudence through so much angst in my previous fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301160/chapters/55808596">The Beast Was Always There</a>, I felt the need to write about her experiencing joy and love too in penance. Though me being me, there's plenty of angst here as well. Along with my first attempt at a spell based fight. </p><p>Also covid have desperately made me miss travelling and eating things in new places, so obviously I had to write about Ambrose and Prudence doing both as they're chasing Blackwood. I miss Amman. </p><p>Hope you'll enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The most annoying part about having Ambrose as her collaborator in vengeance is by far the eating. There is no situation too dire or important that Ambrose can’t turn travelling to a new country as they pursue her father into a discussion about which delicacy they should be eating when they arrive.</p><p>Always he seems to be popping some bit of food into that luscious, hungry mouth of his, catching a few stray blueberries as they chase yet another lead through the Polish hillsides, cookies and gross mortal candy appears as if from out of thin air.</p><p>She wonders if he’s conjured some kind of pocket dimension in his coat that is stored with food as though he's a dumb squirrel foraging for the winter, but considers it below her dignity to acknowledge that particular little quirk of his.</p><p>If she does, he might try to get her to eat some of his gross pocket snacks, and she needs to be sharp and mean for the kind of job they’re trying to do. Vendettas are hungry work, no room for distractions. Even if Ambrose doesn’t seem to understand that.</p><p>But it is difficult not to be infuriated with him.</p><p>When he had first suggested that they both hunt down her father, she had considered him a worthy and fitting companion, someone with the same kind of wound as her. Someone who would understand the gravity of the situation. The need to blot out the stain that Faustus Blackwood is on the world as quickly and decisively as possible.</p><p>Instead, he seems to be on the verge of tears when he inhales the pungent smell of the greasy fish and chips that he buys first thing on the harbour in Bristol when they first arrive in the city.</p><p>And when they make it to London, he insists on introducing her to the witches’ bazar. Too late she discovers there is actually no old contact that he needs to track down to help them, at least none better than the name she was given, a name which should have led them to the opposite end of the city.</p><p>“We were given a perfectly acceptable lead, and you drag me off to this place instead,” she hisses while she prowls back amongst the stalls of the arcade as the truth of the matter settles on her, knocking the floating lanterns away from her path, their brilliance seeming like an affront to her anger.</p><p>“This is the biggest gathering place for witches in all of London, Prudence,” Ambrose points out as he hurries after her, exasperation clear in his voice. “There is no way that he or any of his stupid Judas boys could avoid passing by here, if they’re still in the capitol.”</p><p>“That is not the fucking point, Ambrose, and you know it,” she snaps back, managing to bypass his hands as he tries to make a grab for her arm. “Now get away from me.”</p><p>While she chases after their initial lead, which of course turns out to be a dead end, Ambrose doesn’t return to the hotel that evening, showing up in her room at the crack of dawn instead.</p><p>“He travelled to Paris a few days ago. As if he knew we were coming,” he says with no further preamble as Prudence blinks awake.</p><p>“How did you…?”</p><p>“Ran into a couple of Judas boys when I was getting a drink in one of my old haunts,” Ambrose says with a heavy pained groan as he settles onto the chair in her room. “No doubt they observed our theatrics earlier in the day.”</p><p>There’s blood on his shirt and gathered into the creases on his hands and around his nails, when she flips on the light next to her bed. Bruises along the sharp cut of his jaw.</p><p>“Don’t worry, it’s not mine,” Ambrose says when he catches the direction of his gaze.</p><p>“I wasn’t asking,” Prudence hisses, and her heart stutters wildly in her chest at the sight of the cruel cut of Ambrose’s smile.</p><p>“Well, in that case, I’ll move to my room.”</p><p>“We should go though?” Prudence says, frowning as she climbs out of her bed. “Not waste any more time.”</p><p>“They might not have drawn blood, Prudence, but after the pummeling I just took, I need a moment.”</p><p>“I’ll prepare our bags then,” she insists, opening her own with a snap of her fingers.</p><p>“Right,” Ambrose sighs, getting to his feet with another groan. “You’re always good with initiative.”</p><p>He is grumpy when they arrive in Paris, not making any insistence on where they should stay, and Prudence checks them into the first and best hotel she manages to find.</p><p>His grumpiness extends to her choice of locale, complaining of how generic it is and how it’s no way to experience the city of lights. His grumpiness is catching, and Prudence wants nothing more than to leave, but after the events in London, Ambrose won’t let her, clinging to her side like a bur in a cat’s fur as they search out all the old associates of her father.</p><p>Each of them denies knowledge of him, but it’s the white-haired chemist close to the Luxenbourg gardens that nearly makes Prudence burst from her own skin. The fumes in his shop, the alchemical stink of it. Everything reeks of her father’s last act against their coven.</p><p>It’s all Ambrose can do to stop her from clawing the old warlock’s eyes out, pulling her along with him, arms flailing as they spill back out onto the pavement.</p><p>“Get out of my face, Ambrose.”</p><p>“Your bloodthirst is striking as always Prudence, but rather misdirected this time,” Ambrose says, keeping her from charging back in. “The old fool is obviously speaking the truth. No sound mind would let his ingredients cross like that poor bastard.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Prudence snaps, body humming with the desire to rip things apart.</p><p>“You didn’t look at the jars? The idiot had hemlock in the barrels for chamomile,” he explains, nodding back towards the shop where the old man is locking up, anxious eyes fixed on Prudence’s face. “Blackwood wouldn’t be dumb enough to trust him with anything.”</p><p>“I’m going back to the hotel.”</p><p>“Prudence,” Ambrose urges, though sounding tired as he does so. “Let’s just get something to eat, regroup.”</p><p>“Don’t be so fucking preposterous.”</p><p>The stench from the chemist’s shop follows her into her dreams. The burn of it tearing at her nose as she is once again in the desecrated church, giving each member a coven a sip from the poisoned chalice, but this time, rather than leaving with her father, she stands by the altar, taking it all in.</p><p>Each of them collapses into piles of dead meat on the floor, breath leaving her sisters’ lungs and she’s not able to do anything at all as she stares at their wide open, unseeing eyes with her father’s brutal grip on her shoulder.</p><p>She bolts from the bed, trying to calm down and remember where she is. Paris, yes, lavish hotel, yes.</p><p>Ambrose in the next room, yes…</p><p>Prudence has never been used to waking up alone. Always she’s had her sisters with her. The nearness of their bodies able to soothe any nightmare she might have, but they aren’t near now. Across the sea, kept far away from where her father could do them any more harm.</p><p>As soon as she pushes the door to Ambrose’s room open, he flicks the light on, body tense despite the sleep bleary look on his face.</p><p>“What’s going on?” he croaks.</p><p>Sex is another distraction that she hasn’t allowed herself during this chase for her father, yet another physical pleasure that mustn’t derail her unholy thirst for vengeance, but she doesn’t know of any other way to explain why she is in his room.</p><p>Even though she and Ambrose haven’t fucked since before he was imprisoned for murdering the antipope during her father’s campaign for power, he opens his mouth to her tongue and lets her climb into bed with him, already conveniently naked under the sheets.</p><p>The charge sparks up between them for all that this is poorly thought through. Ambrose seems as hungry for the grind and sweat of sex as she is, mouthing at her neck as she rucks up her nightdress and gets onto his cock.</p><p>Her body hasn’t quite caught up to her intentions and she flinches as she takes him inside, the pain blurred pleasure of his first thrust sending a rush to her head and makes her whine like a wounded animal against the side of his face.</p><p>“Prudence?” he rasps, but she shakes her head and grinds down instead, trying to get wetter, make her body get with the program.</p><p>“Let me help you with that,” he grunts, reaching down to work his fingers against her clit, the more direct stimulation making her entire body quake as she rocks in his lap. “Next time just let me eat you out first, that used to get you right worked up.”</p><p>“What makes you think there’s going to be a next time,” Prudence snaps, digging her nails into his shoulders when a shit eating grin makes its way onto his face.</p><p>"Because you like fucking me, Prudence."</p><p>"You're convenient," she says, but it doesn't wipe the smirk off Ambrose's face, if anything her viciousness makes him look more pleased than before.</p><p>Picking up the pace does though, his mouth going slack with the moans she fucks out of him. Ambrose of course always gives as good as he gets and grabs onto her waist, and then it’s Prudence’s turn to gasp.</p><p>She feels half mad from the way he rolls his hips under hers and seems to hit every pleasure spot she has. The insistent press of his fingers makes her lean back and brace her hands on his legs, contorting the long, lean line of her body to his gaze.</p><p>Ambrose's reaction comes promptly.</p><p>"You're a fucking vision, Prudence," he says, eyes boring into hers for a moment before he glances where they’re joined, watching her work herself almost all the way of his cock and back down in the most languid, thorough gyrations she can manage.</p><p>She swallows back a smug grin at the empathetic unholy shit she can hear him gasp out.</p><p>When she comes apart, Ambrose rolls them over, finding his own orgasm as he gasps filthy nonsense into the curve of her neck.</p><p>The room is suddenly very quiet without the obscene squeaking of the bed and Prudence grimaces as he eases out of her and collapses onto the bed.</p><p>He is staring, she can feel the attention like a soft, but insistent prod at the side of her face. When she looks at him, his brows are furrowed as though he’s trying to puzzle her out. She suspects he’s wondering why she’s not leaving.</p><p>“My legs are still fucking shaking,” she mutters.</p><p>Admitting that feels less embarrassing than admitting she doesn’t want to leave his bed and be alone again, and he gives her the reaction she hopes for. Ambrose laughs and presses a sleepy kiss to her shoulder.</p><p>“Well feel free to stick around. The bed is big enough for the two of us.”</p><p>She is still wrapped up in his sheets when she wakes, sunlight spilling through the gap in the curtains.</p><p>Ambrose is lying on his stomach, face half buried in the pillows – lips softly parted, eyelids lightly twitching as though he’s dreaming.</p><p>For a moment all she wants to do is brush her fingertips over this thick fan of his eyelash and kiss the corner of his mouth. The intensity of the feeling startles her from the bed, causing enough of a jostle to make him blink awake.</p><p>“We need to head out and look up the rest of my father’s contacts,” she says and turns from him.</p><p>“I need nourishment first,” he chuckles, voice raspy from sleep in a way that makes her toes curl into the carpet. “Someone wore me out last night.”</p><p>“Eating is just a distraction from our mission.”</p><p>“Only someone demented would consider crepes a fucking distraction, Prudence,” Ambrose grumbles and reaches for the telephone to the lobby and prattles out an order for crepes while Prudence lets out a huff of frustration and stomps off to her own room.</p><p>Prudence is easily able to go without food. Had often done so when she was a kid – taking their food away was one of the most common punishments for orphans at the academy. And food was never plentiful at the academy to begin with.</p><p>In the sermons of her childhood and later in life, it has always been pointed out that a hungry witch was a sharp witch. And a well fed one is lazy.</p><p>In time, Prudence has come to sort of enjoy the dizzy headed ecstasy that comes from being deprived of food. Or indeed depriving herself of food as she has begun to do on occasion in later years.</p><p>“Don’t you know that a full witch is begging for slaughter like a pig,” she bites when she finds it in herself to enter the common area of their suite where Ambrose is digging into his food with alarming gusto.</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, I’m never sated,” Ambrose assures her and pops a bit of crepe into his mouth, chewing as he keeps staring at her.</p><p>After swallowing, he drops the knife and fork and reaches out for her. For a second she stiffens, but there’s a certain kind of glint in his eyes, a particular slant to his smile and she lets him pull her closer.</p><p>“Thought having the scales drop from your eyes about Blackwood would mean you stopped trusting the bloody propaganda too.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“There’s nothing in the scripture to support starving people,” Ambrose scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Zelda is well fed; you think her a lesser witch?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Prudence blurts out, the very thought seeming almost blasphemous.</p><p>“Then why not partake in all the physical pleasures we’re given?” He asks, and the warm softness in his eyes makes her think of thick, dark syrup.</p><p>When he pulls down her skirt, Prudence lets him, gripping onto the edge of the table for support.</p><p>After he’s made her come two times with his sugar sticky mouth, Ambrose persuades her to imbibe in the rest of his crepe, kissing her shoulder blade as she mulls over the bite of the lemon juice with the sweetness of the sugar.</p><p>She complains a little less about his eating after that. Especially when their leads start to dry out. It seems mean to scold him when they have so little to go on, and so she keeps him company while he eats his way through rich, plum sweetened stew in Sarajevo, freshly shaved lamb kebab in the markets of Istanbul and at least five different variations of pasta in Venice.</p><p>In Amman, they crowd into an overstuffed hole in the wall along with the locals to seek the shade, and Prudence sighs as she settles onto a plastic chair while Ambrose breaks apart the brown crust of a falafel to reveal the green within.</p><p>“So I heard from a source that he used to dally with a couple of sister witches in Hong Kong, might be worth checking into?” he says as he pushes the bowl of falafels in her direction.</p><p>“Well, it’s better than my lead, so why not.”</p><p>She ignores his wide smile when she takes one and uses it to scoop up a heavy dollop of baba ghanoush, barely suppressing a full body shiver at the rich, fragrant taste of the food.</p><p>“What is it about you and food anyways?” she asks later in the evening as they’ve settled in one of the local smoking bars and Ambrose orders snacks when the coal slinger preps their water pipe for them.</p><p>“Not sure what you mean?”</p><p>“It’s not just about being full for you,” Prudence clarifies, finally indulging in the curiosity that has been niggling at her along with her frustration of his incessant eating.</p><p>“Shouldn’t just be about that. Food is a sensuous pleasure, and witches are all about that.”</p><p>“Ambrose,” she says, trying for a sincerity that still feels unfamiliar to her to counter the cheeky wink he sends her way, and it seems to work. At least his eyes grow serious.</p><p>“Foods and books were the only way out of the mortuary for me. Zelda brought me books and Hilda tried to cheer me up with different foreign dishes when I wasn’t coping well with my house arrest,” Ambrose mutters before taking the first drag of the pipe.</p><p>Prudence almost squirms at the raw honesty in his voice. She hasn’t seen him so unguarded in his expression since the day they saved her sisters and what remained of the coven.</p><p>“I like to indulge in eating the things in their natural surroundings now that I have the opportunity.”</p><p>“Was house arrest very awful?”</p><p>His smile is tense when he hands her the pipe, and Prudence is grateful for having something to do, inhaling the taste of the mint and melon flavoured tobacco.</p><p>“I didn’t leave my bedroom for the first five years I spent in the mortuary, and I might have overindulged in sleeping spells. Considered making them more permanent when Edward and Diana died.”</p><p>“So why didn’t you?”</p><p>“Sabrina,” Ambrose explains with a shrug, his smile softening. “It’s very hard to resist a soft, squishy baby who lights up whenever she sees you and prefers to nap on your belly above all other places.”</p><p>Prudence thinks of her own baby brother and sister, how much they cried and how much she loathed to change their disgusting diapers. And yet, they were so tiny and helpless, Prudence has never felt quite so needed as when she fed them or felt their chubby little hands grasp at her fingers. Having them sleep on her belly seems nightmarish though.</p><p>Her thoughts must telegraph much too clearly onto her face, because Ambrose leans forward and grasps her hand.</p><p>“You’ll see once we find Judas and Leticia,”</p><p>“I don’t think I’m cut out for babies,” Prudence says.</p><p>“Maybe not, but you know your family, Prudence. You’re exquisitely loyal.”</p><p>“I think we should head to Hong Kong next,” she says, changing the subject, not quite sure how to deal with the expression on his face - it looks like adoration.</p><p>Nick sort of used to look at her in a similar way, before he found out that she and her sisters had been tugging on the strings of his mind.</p><p>“We’ll leave first thing then,” Ambrose agrees, pulling his hand away.</p><p>She doesn’t like Hong Kong at first. There’s too much steel and glass and nature feel much too far way despite the mountains that surround the entire city. It’s unnatural and witches are supposed to be connected to the pulse of things, the fire and water of creation.</p><p>All that Prudence feels close to is the noise and screeches of too many people and too much traffic.</p><p>It’s better out in the woods on Hong Kong Island where they go to find the two witches her father reportedly tangled with.</p><p>They’re both dead.</p><p>Her and Ambrose find them just inside the door of their sumptuous home on the mountain side, blood pooled across the marble floor, tables turned over, ornaments shattered and scattered in an obvious show of struggle.</p><p>“They’re still warm,” Ambrose mutters and then can’t speak at all when someone charges at him.</p><p>They both go into the pool of blood, and Prudence catches a flash of a face she’s pretty sure she knows.</p><p>When the second warlock charges into the room, Prudence is ready for it, seizing him by the jaw and swinging him at the wall. She wants to question him, but then she hears Ambrose cry out behind her, and her blood runs cold rather than hot.</p><p>Tearing at the hair of the man in her grasp, she pulls loose a few strands and spits in her hand before clenching it into a fist with a few garbled words that make him freeze.</p><p>As a binding spell it is rudimentary, one Nick taught her once upon a time as a quick fix if she was ever in trouble. It won’t last more than a few minutes at most.</p><p>Then she rushes at the man who’s got Ambrose pinned beneath him, fingers constricting his throat, preventing her lover from speaking any spell to defend himself, although he’s scratched the man’s arm bloody in his attempts to get loose.</p><p>There’s a grunt of surprise when she seizes him by the scruff of the neck like a dumb mutt, the man obviously not expecting the assault so soon.</p><p>“Where’s my father,” she sneers, digging her nails in.</p><p>“You’re his slut daughter, not worthy of the name he gave you,” the man in her grasp spits and then starts screaming when Prudence growls a hex in latin that sends the man’s blood boiling.</p><p>Her head feels like it’s going to split apart with the strain of holding onto both spells at once, but still the man won’t let go of Ambrose.</p><p>“I said where is he?”</p><p>“You’ll never find him. The high priest cannot be touched by witch or mortal now,” he says and spits blood into her face.</p><p>She realizes her mistake a split second too late when he yells a curse of his own and Prudence staggers back with a sharp cry as white-hot pain lashes across her front like the blow from a whip.</p><p>The man turns his attention on Ambrose again, and Prudence recognizes the spell as one of terrible, violating pain and launches herself at both men with a scream, grasping the nearest thing she can find in the mess around them.</p><p>The breath leaves his body in a desperate, wet heave, the curse stopped mid-sentence by the pointy, ornamental metal branch she’s punctured his throat with. The blood that comes pouring out once she tears it free. </p><p>“Prudence,” Ambrose croaks, and before she can stop him, he shoots upwards at the second man who’s gotten loose of her binding spell.</p><p>Ambrose yells the words of an invocation that makes Prudence eardrums compress until she cries out and the man drops like a sack of meat at their feet.</p><p>“What did you do?” Prudence asks, taking in the blood leaking from the man’s ears, mouth and nose. Even his eyes.</p><p>She recognises them both now, warlocks a few years ahead of her at the academy, ones who’d always sucked up to Blackwood as if their lives depended on it.</p><p>“Made his heart burst,” Ambrose rasps, sounding like each word brings him pain. “Not recommended to use it, but it is effective if you’ve got the stamina.”</p><p>Ambrose is bleeding rapidly from his nose as well, a blood vessels burst in his eye. He falls to his knees, breath strained and raw, and Prudence’s heart feels like it has burst as well.</p><p>“Ambrose.”</p><p>“Would you look at that,” he says, a goofy grin on his face. “You do care about me.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Prudence whispers, pretending like tears aren’t pouring down her own blood streaked face.</p><p>“Kiss me and I might.”</p><p>“Stop joking, you need healing, you monster.”</p><p>“Same thing really,” he laughs, but immediately stops with a pained grimace when the raspy sound jostles his bruised throat.</p><p>Prudence hands are shaking, but steadies when she wraps them around Ambrose’s throat, muttering the first healing spell she can think of and his breathing eases. </p><p>She kisses him next, and can feel Ambrose smile against her mouth when he wraps his arms around her, hands sticky with blood as he pulls her closer.</p><p>“We need to get out of here,” she whispers as they part.</p><p>Ambrose groans, but nods and pulls away from her.</p><p>“We do, but first we need to interrogate these two.”</p><p>“You don’t have the strength for necromancy right now.”</p><p>“I have great stamina, you know that, Prudence,” he says, opening his spell bag for the necessary remedies.</p><p>“So like a man, so very convinced of your capabilities,” Prudence remarks, and her lips twitch with hot delight at the filthy grin he sends her.</p><p>The Judas boys are a bust just like the others they have come across have been, but they are pointing their fingers back to the states. To New Orleans for some kind of rendez-vous point. It’s better than whatever else they have been getting for a while.</p><p>The two sister witches make even less sense. Muttering of eggs and too many eyes in a way that make her skin crawl. What has her father been up to while they have been chasing him?</p><p>Ambrose’s face is drawn, body slumped against hers when she teleports them out of the house and back to their suites in one of the many skyscrapers of the city. He’s asleep before his face even hits the pillow.</p><p>After she bathes, washing the blood of herself, she settles on the bed next to him, tracing the lines of his exhausted face with a feather light touch. She does not like to dwell on what the ripe, heavy feeling in her chest means, but it intensifies when Ambrose sighs in his sleep, pressing a half coherent kiss to the palm of her hand.</p><p>She isn’t aware of falling asleep, but when she wakes, she is alone. For a second she panics, but then the sound of the shower penetrates her sleep addled brain and she flops back onto the bed.</p><p>It’s night out, or as close as a city like Hong Kong can get to it.</p><p>That threw her off in the beginning as well in Hong Kong. She likes the dark. Witches do, they’re all nocturnal animals, and in a city lit at all hours, nighttime seems like an elusive thing. Sleeping suspended high above the city, it’s like sleeping in an ocean of light.</p><p>And yet, being so high above the city has other advantages as she’s found out by now.</p><p>The moonlight hits her skin as soon as she pulls the curtains aside and opens the door. A burst of warm air rushes into the cool room, and she smiles up against the sky. Nature might seem far away, but the moon has never felt so close. She feels the pull of it in her belly.</p><p>The pull changes to an ache when Ambrose sneaks up behind her and slips his arms around her waist to tug her close.</p><p>She can see the half-formed reflection of her smirk in the window when she realizes he hasn't put clothes on, naked and warm from the shower against her. </p><p>“You feel it?”</p><p>She isn’t quite sure what he’s asking, but she whispers a yes all the same and turns in his arms.</p><p>He is ready for the kiss she presses to his mouth and deepens it immediately. Prudence chuckles at his eagerness, but indulges him, laughter turning into a sigh when Ambrose smoothens his hands down her back, hauling her closer with a firm grip on her ass.</p><p>“You strong enough?” she whispers as they have to break apart with ragged breaths, reaching up to trace her fingers across where the bruises marred his handsome face earlier in the evening.</p><p>He answers by kissing her again, and Prudence moves them back to the massive bed in their suite, urging Ambrose onto his back on the rumbled sheets. He flinches when she bites at his nipple, abdomen hollowing with a sharp inhale under the hand travelling down his body.</p><p>“Darling,” he sighs, and Prudence is glad that his eyes flutters closed from the pleasure, because she’s pretty sure she’s blushing and that is too mortifying for him to be allowed to see.</p><p>He’s breathing hard, mouth soft and begging to be kissed when his eyes open again, seeming very eager despite the heavy-lidded look on his face.</p><p>“Want to taste you,” Ambrose says, reaching down to stop her hand, and she isn’t the kind of girl to refuse that kind of offer.</p><p>He beams as he sits up and watches her lie back and his lips are already tracing across her bared skin before she’s gotten her nightdress properly off.</p><p>For once he doesn’t bother with teasing her, and descends between her legs with a bit of a playful growl that makes her giggle and then moan when his tongue spreads her open.</p><p>“Sweet as fucking honey, Prudence,” he whispers as he lifts his mouth again, and Prudence does her best attempt at laughing through her pleasure tight lungs.</p><p>“You would know.”</p><p>He sends her a diabolical grin before focuses on his task again, and it doesn’t take long before he has Prudence gripping the sheets as if for dear life.</p><p>Her nails dig into the meat of his shoulder when he pulls her harder against his mouth, and humors the gyration of her hips for a moment before he pins her down with a heavy arm laid across her pelvis.</p><p>This time it doesn’t feel incendiary, but more like descending into a warm bath, heat flushing up her entire body from the latch of his mouth over her clit, the hand holding her spread open for him.</p><p>“Ambrose,” she moans, but then bites down, her mouth full of all sorts of words that are going to escape if she opens it again.</p><p>She feels like a throat cut open as she comes against his mouth, life force spilling out of her as her thighs tremble, but forced to stay open by Ambrose’s strong hands.</p><p>He wipes at his face and moves upwards, her thighs parting wider under the press of his hips. Prudence doesn’t wait for him to kiss her, but reaches up to grab his face, pulling his mouth to hers and tasting herself on the warm plushness of his lips, the molten heat of his tongue.</p><p>“There we go, darling,” Ambrose whispers, pressing closer and she feel him slide against her. “Get me in you.”</p><p>Her hand is shaking when she reaches between them and palms his cock, but she manages to bring him where he needs to go, and whines when he presses in, body still sparked up by aftershocks from her orgasm. Toes curling at how well he fills her up.</p><p>She hooks her legs around him, grabs onto his shoulder in an attempt to get him to roll over, but Ambrose shakes his head, pushing first one of her hands then the other above her head, pinning them to the bed.</p><p>As if he can see the hesitation on her face, Ambrose gives her a hard, sharp thrust that shocks a wild moan out of her. Like he wants her to know what she’ll miss if she insists on wresting back control.</p><p>And so she doesn’t, relaxing into the unfamiliar, submissive position and rolls her hips to meet the pace he sets.</p><p>She wonders if she’ll ever get bored of him. Of this. The only man who has ever managed to hold her attention for any length of time is Nick – Nick who used to be so eager to lay himself out for her and any kind of appetite or debasement she could think of.</p><p>With Ambrose everything feels different. Less complicated and yet somehow more so all at one. She doesn’t mind so much, being held down by him, his tongue and teeth dragging across her neck and shoulder as his hips work against hers until Prudence feels half mad with it, a whine in her throat.</p><p>“It’s never felt so good to fuck anyone as you,” he rasps, and there’s nowhere to go pinned down beneath him, and words spill out of her after all, torn from her mouth like the most obscene secret. </p><p>“I’m so glad you didn’t die. I want you here, fucking me,” she slurs and Ambrose laughs, leaning down to capture her mouth.</p><p>The kiss doesn’t last long when his thrusts pick up speed, forcing them to part with ragged moans. She’s so close she can taste it.</p><p>“Ambrose, I…”</p><p>"Touch yourself for me,” Ambrose mutters and lets go of her hands as he grabs onto the trellis of the headboard instead, using the leverage to slow down his thrusts, make them hard enough that each of them forces a rough moan from her throat.</p><p>For a second she’s tempted to make another play for dominance, but instead she does what he says, reaching down between them, brushing her fingers through the slick mess of their union. She can feel him looking at her, and lifts her gaze to meet his.</p><p>Staring him straight in the eye while she helps him work her to a second orgasm, they don’t simply feel joined at the crotch, but somewhere more essential. </p><p>When she starts to come, she blindly reaches for him, muffles her half-garbled declarations against his mouth and then Ambrose rolls them over, fucking up into her so hard and fast that she feels ready to come again instantly. He’s ahead of her though.</p><p>He groans her name as he comes, and Prudence’s throat feels all tight. She doesn’t want to stop – stay in the bed forever joined and entangled.</p><p>He pulls her down to his chest, gives her a kiss that’s much of a kiss at all with how ragged he’s breathing, moans leaving them both as he pulls out of her.</p><p>They’re not parted for long – Ambrose pulls her into his arms, presses his mouth to her neck as he drops a hand to her cunt again. She sighs as she comes a third time, all soft, like his kisses to her throat and cheek.</p><p>Sex hasn’t felt like this before. Not even the wildest sex magic spells she’s performed in the years since her dark baptism has made her feel turned inside out like she feels now, wrapped up in Ambrose’s body.</p><p>She isn’t sure what to say, like something’s changed. Something that can’t be soothed by any words at all.</p><p>“Prudence,” he whispers, and there’s such awe in his voice that she can’t help but look at him.</p><p>The silence stretches, something warm and adoring in his eyes, and Prudence feels the heavy, overripe feeling in her chest intensify until he smiles, the mischievous upturn in the corner of his mouth flooding her with relief.</p><p>“Not too bad being under me, right?” Ambrose mutters.</p><p>“I was only worried you were gonna die on me,” Prudence scoffs. “You’re an old man after all, no saying what practicing necromancy does to your heart.”</p><p>“Best antidote to necromancy is feeling very, very alive,” Ambrose chuckles. “And you certainly qualify for that.”</p><p>A smile that feels all weird makes its way onto her face, much wider than any smile she usually doles out, but she can’t seem to relax her face.</p><p>“I believe you mentioned that I have to try xiaolongbaos while I’m here,” she says instead, trying to distract herself from her face going rogue.</p><p>His brows fly upwards, but the surprise eases into a pleased grin instead.</p><p>“I know just the place. Zelda recommended it.”</p><p>New Orleans can wait, she decides as she watches him ease off the bed with grimace, his legs stiff as he gets to his feet. It isn’t like Ambrose is in any state to fight Blackwood or any of his Judas boys anyhow, and perhaps it isn’t so bad. Her feeling full.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If we're not getting much Pambrose this final season as the reviews seem to indicate, I'm glad I managed to finish this before the show closes out. </p><p>Adia Victoria's album Silences was a big inspiration for the mood of this fic, particularly Get Lonely. Please give her a listen. She's wonderful. </p><p>Also I'm on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/unseemingowl">Tumblr</a>. You're more than welcome to come and say hi.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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